Lira took an involuntary step back as the two spirit armies came crashing together, as though the force of their collision had created a physical aftershock. She heard the screams, the pounding of feet, the thud of bodies hitting each other, the hisses of pain and yowls of triumph, but she saw none of it. Her eyes remained closed and her fingers kept moving across the violin's strings.
The thump of her racing pulse burned in her ears along with the ever-increasing pitch of the music that poured from her instrument. The sweat already beaded at her hairline began to trickle down her temples, sticking wisps of hair to her face and her tunic to her back. A red glow warmed her closed eyelids, but she dared not part them.
The carousel rocked as one or several spirits fell against it, and she staggered a few steps to regain her balance, a loose chain brushing her shoulder, the metal cold, but still she didn't open her eyes. She did not want to see what her music was doing; what she was doing.
Instead she tried to keep ahead of the music; one part of her mind queuing up the next notes while the other part kept her hands moving. She played with reckless abandon, letting her anger at Bebinn and her anger at herself flood the music, knowing that's what the witch wanted. The angrier Lira was, the harder Bebinn's spirits would fight.
Her thoughts flicked briefly to Genzel and Vivian, wondering if they had managed to escape the horde. The last image she had of the carnival was of Bebinn whirling towards her with venom in her voice and murder in her eyes. She had not expected them to confront Bebinn so and had nearly lost her place when they appeared from the folds of the crowd. She had only the smallest of hopes that their eleventh-hour stand would stop the bloodshed before it began, but deep down she knew Bebinn would not give up. Not that easily. And now Lira would add the carver and his youngest daughter to her conscious as well.
Shame at her own weakness, at her own ability to stand up to the witch pooled in her stomach so now every part of her was burning. If Genzel could face his own daughter, defy her openly in the face of all their shared history, why was she unable to defy her captor? Sure, at first, she had said she wouldn't be a part of Bebinn's scheme, given her some speech about how she wouldn't be a puppet anymore. But, in the end, it had just been a bunch of words, meaningless syllables that had broken against the first sign of resistance. Because here she was, playing a battle song that would turn into a dirge before all this was over. In the end, she was no better than Baleros after all.
Then you deserve to watch it happen, said a nasty voice in her head. If you won't stop it, then you should have the end burned into your memory.
Lira swallowed against her dry throat and opened her eyes. Her vision was blurred at the edges, but whether it was the exertion of playing or the sweat on her eyelashes she couldn't be sure.
As soon as she registered the scene before her, Lira wanted to close her eyes again. The ground and air were alive with a teeming mass of spirits, pairs of them reeling back and locking together in a kind of horrible dance that left pools of thick, black blood soaking into the ground.
In front of her, a spirit that was half-man, half-viper, with slitted eyes and glistening incisors, lashed out at a large panther-like beast covered in feathers. The cat screamed as the fangs buried in its shoulder, pulling out a clump of blue-black feathers as the snake-man reared back to strike again. The cat pivoted, lightning-quick, to swipe the dark spirit with a tail that ended in a row of spikes. Great sweeping gouges opened up across the man's torso, his cry cutting off as he fell back to lie bleeding in the dirt. The cat bounded away to help a small, animated tree dodging the fiery blasts from something that looked like an overgrown lizard.
Above the carousel, one of Zabaria's golden eagles was screaming as it flew towards a hideous bat-like creature. The two collided, talons flashing, wings flapping, a gold-black comet hurtling towards the ground. At the last second, the eagle wrenched itself free, the bat spiraling to earth to be lost in the throng, while the eagle circled in a wide arc, searching for another target. Its cry pierced her music briefly, folding back amongst the melody to be lost in echoes.
Lira scanned the crowd for any sign of Genzel or Vivian, but even with her vantage point it was nearly impossible to discern anyone or anything beyond the small pool of light cast by the carousel bulbs. After thirty agonizing seconds she still hadn't spotted them, but then her gaze locked on another dueling pair near the center of the battle: Zabaria and Bebinn.
The two were volleying, each trying to get the upper hand on the other. Bebinn was quicker than Lira had expected and her grey gown had constricted into armor that allowed her to move unencumbered.
Zabaria gave a half-turn, boot and staff striking the ground. Roots erupted from the earth, twining around Bebinn's ankles and wrists, trying to pull her down, only to be burned to ash seconds later by some kind of fire magic from Bebinn's fingertips. The flame coiled around Bebinn's wrist, forming a whip that she swung over her head and down towards Zabaria in a crackling arc, doused just before it connected with the forest spirit's face by a wall of water that left Bebinn drenched.
Sodden, her auburn hair undone and plastered in dark ribbons against her cheeks, Bebinn let out a scream. Shadows pulled themselves from the air around her, pooling on the ground and racing toward Zabaria.
The staff came down hard again, pinning the shadow in place, sparks of light emitting at the point they connected, hissing where they struck the dark mass until it crumbled into a pile of fine gray powder. Both women paused for a heartbeat, gathering themselves.
In that moment, Lira couldn't say what drew her eyes from the dueling sorceresses, but her gaze flickered over their heads to the right, landing squarely on Owen, who was shoulder to shoulder with Jacks, trying to keep Bebinn's fury from devouring Genzel. Her body went cold all over as she watched the harpy dive toward the trio, Owen ducking and slashing at its underbelly while Jacks lashed out with his whip, trying to lasso the creature's foot. It broke away screeching, throwing Jacks to the ground, angling out to the left for another dive. Jacks shouted something, unintelligible at this distance, to Owen who was bent over the unconscious carver.
What were they doing out here? She wanted to yell at them to run, but everything left in her was being used to fuel the music. What little voice she had had was gone.
She watched as Owen tried to drag Genzel to safety, only to drop him bodily to the ground to fend off the next fury attack. And then the battle shifted and they were lost from sight.
Lira swayed on her feet; her fingertips numb but still moving, her heart leaden but still beating. She willed herself to stop, telling her hands to let the instrument fall, reaching as far into herself as she could to try and find the edges of her soul to pull it back, even if it meant leaving a piece of it behind in the violin, but she couldn't. She shouldn't find it, couldn't stop.
The music was filling her up like a physical presence, replacing her blood, covering the sound of battle until it was all she could hear, invading her mind until there was only the smallest part necessary left free to keep her arms and hands moving. Her vision grew blurrier still, the fighting now just flashes of light and moving shapes.
She wasn't cold anymore. She wasn't anything but the violin and sound.
Is this how Baleros felt? She wondered, trying desperately to hold onto the tiny part of herself that still belonged to her. Is this what happened to him in the end?
###
Owen flung himself to the ground, tasting blood and dirt. A hot wind rushed over him as the fury swooped low, and there was a sharp tearing sound as his shirt ripped where the talons raked over him, just grazing the flesh of his back in a stinging caress. The crack of a whip made him flinch and he heard Jacks curse as it fell back to the earth without a target.
Turning his head, Genzel's limp body came into view. Blood trickled from the side of his head and matted in his beard, his clothes twisted and covered in dust. The only sign that he was alive was the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
"You need—to get to Lira," grunted Jacks, flinging his whip at an approaching goat-like spirit that had its horns lowered and ready to charge. The leather caught the creature in the eye and it ran off bleating, half-blind.
"I can't leave Genzel," panted Owen, rising to his knees and scanning for the harpy. "He'll get trampled."
"The quicker you get to Lira, the quicker this ends," hissed Jacks. "I've got Genzel."
The crush of spirits shifted around them and Owen suddenly found himself eye to eye with a spindly little creature that looked like a walking black cactus. Its beady red eyes narrowed and it charged at him, needles bristling like a porcupine. Owen threw up his arms to protect his face, roaring in pain as the spirit embedded itself in his forearms.
"Incoming!" shouted Jacks from behind him, accompanied by the telltale sounds of flapping wings.
Reacting on instinct alone, Owen grabbed the cactus spirit, crying out again as the needles stabbed his palms, and launched it at the approaching fury. The bird gave a hideous shriek that threatened to burst Owen's eardrums as the barbed spirit buried in its neck. It stalled midflight, head snapping side to side to try and dislodge it. Blood spattered down in a rain, spotting Owen's face and clothes.
From somewhere in the crowd came the sound of a woman screaming. Owen spun wildly to look at the carousel but Lira was still playing, lost in the music.
"Owen! Now!" said Jacks. He had Genzel by the ankles and was trying to drag him away from the fray. Owen rushed to help, blood smearing the old carver as Owen's bloody palms locked around his wrinkled wrists. Together, they heaved Genzel through a brief gap in the fighting, laying him down in what little protection the fold of a tent could offer.
Just as the two had finished tucking his arms and legs close to his body, they both pitched forward, arms instinctively covering their heads, as behind them another tent burst into flame. Owen coughed, looking under his arm to see great clouds of smoke billowing into the purple-orange sky, and a wave of heat rolled over them. Eyes streaming, Owen looked at Genzel's prone form. "He's—not—safe here," he wheezed to Jacks.
"He's not safe anywhere!" Jacks shouted back. "No one is. You need to get to Lira. I'll protect Genzel."
Owen looked to the carousel again, seeming impossibly far away, and Lira at its edge, weaving in and out of sight as the fighting moved around the ride like it had its own gravity. As he watched, a dark form approached the ride, reaching a black skeletal hand toward the violinist. Owen's heart jumped into his throat, choking him. He made to call a warning he knew she wouldn't be able to hear, but before he could gather the words, the dark spirit stumbled back as though burned and vanished from sight. He breathed a short-lived sigh of relief, his hands shaking at his sides. Jacks was right, the was nothing he could do for Genzel now, but he might be able to help Lira stop this.
"The kelpies?" he asked.
"I'll get them. Stay here."
No sooner had Jacks disappeared around the tent then Mitsi appeared, breathless, kitchen knife in hand. His black hair was disheveled and a long gash that was still bleeding ran from his should to the crook of his elbow, staining his white tunic red. "What are you doing here?" asked Owen.
"Trying—to—stop—Atlas," he panted. "Lost her—in the crowd."
Owen glanced around uneasily. Somehow the thought of the dead servant freely roaming the carnival under the cover of battle terrified him more than anything already happening around him.
At least Mitsi can help Jacks Owen thought, once more checking that the unconscious carver was still breathing. There was a rustling and Jacks rounded the tent an instant later, leading a saddled grey kelpie.
He handed the reins to Owen who stuck a foot into the stirrups and hauled himself up.
"Get Lira as far from here as you can," ordered Jacks.
Owen nodded and clicked his tongue, digging his heels into the horse. The kelpie surged forward, carrying him into the thick of the fight.
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Not going to lie, battle scenes are hard to write! And it's not over yet!
How am I doing so far? More importantly, what do you think is going to happen next??!
Thank you, as always, for reading! :)